#4

Chapter 4: The Nature of Fire

The flames danced across Jon's palm, neither burning nor consuming. At eleven namedays old, he'd become obsessed with understanding fire magic, knowing it might be his greatest weapon against the Others. The cold storage cellars beneath Winterfell had become his secret laboratory, warded with silencing charms and notice-me-not spells he'd modified to work with the castle's ancient magic.

"Incendio," he whispered, watching the regular flames spring forth from his new wand. Then, switching to the Old Tongue, he spoke the words he'd found carved in the deepest part of the crypts: "Sōvegon perzys." The flames turned a deep purple, reminiscent of the tales of Valyrian dragonfire.

Jon had discovered that magic responded differently to different languages. Valyrian seemed to enhance fire spells, while the Old Tongue strengthened ice magic. Latin, from his memories as Harry Potter, worked as a neutral base, allowing for the most precise control.

"Write it down, would you?" he asked Robb, who sat nearby with a leather-bound journal. His brother had become his unofficial research assistant, documenting each experiment with surprising attention to detail.

"Purple flames again," Robb muttered as he wrote. "Hotter than normal fire, but not as hot as the blue ones from last week." He looked up. "Why are we focusing so much on fire? You're better with ice magic."

Jon extinguished the flames with a thought. "Because fire is life, Robb. It's creation and destruction in perfect balance. And..." He hesitated. "Because I need to understand how to control it before I attempt the most dangerous fire spell I know."

"More dangerous than that freezing fire you made yesterday?"

"Much more." Jon drew a diagram in the air with his wand, showing writhing flames taking the shapes of beasts. "It's called Fiendfyre. Cursed fire that consumes everything in its path, even magic itself. In my... in my other memories, I saw it destroy things that were supposed to be indestructible."

Robb leaned forward, intrigued. "Can you cast it?"

"Not yet. It's too dangerous to attempt without perfect control. One mistake and I could burn down all of Winterfell." Jon created another small flame, this time focusing on shaping it. The fire formed into a miniature direwolf that prowled across his palm. "But I'm getting closer."

He'd spent months developing his own hybrid spells, combining the raw power of Westerosi magic with the precision of wizarding spells. His new wand made the work easier, responding to his intentions almost before he could form them.

"Watch this," Jon said, raising the wand. "Incendio Gelida!" A stream of pale blue flames erupted from the tip, so cold they froze the air around them. Where they touched the stone floor, frost patterns spread in intricate designs.

"Cold fire," Robb breathed. "Like the stories of the Great Other."

"But controlled," Jon corrected. "That's the key. The Others use ice magic instinctively. We need to be smarter." He extinguished the flames with a wave. "Now for something new."

He'd been working on this particular spell for weeks, trying to recreate something he'd only read about in Winterfell's oldest texts. "Ignis Sanguis," he whispered, drawing his wand across his palm where the ritual scar remained. A drop of blood welled up, then burst into crimson flames that gave off no heat.

"Blood fire," Robb noted, scribbling frantically. "Like the legends of the Last Hero."

Jon nodded, manipulating the blood-flames into complex patterns. "The First Men knew secrets about blood magic that even the Valyrians never discovered. They understood that power comes with a price."

The flames suddenly roared up, taking the shape of a massive wolf's head. Jon felt the drain immediately – blood magic always cost more than regular spells. But the power... the raw power was intoxicating.

"Seven hells," Robb whispered as the fiery wolf opened its maw and released a silent howl. The temperature in the cellar dropped dramatically, then rose until sweat beaded on their foreheads.

Jon maintained the spell for another minute before letting it dissipate. He sat heavily on a nearby crate, exhausted but satisfied. "That's what we need. The ability to combine different types of magic in ways no one expects."

He pulled out a small notebook of his own, filled with cramped writing in multiple languages. "I've been developing a theory. The Others use pure ice magic – powerful but inflexible. The dragons use pure fire magic – devastating but hard to control. But by combining them..."

He demonstrated by creating a sphere of fire in one hand and a sphere of ice in the other. Slowly, he brought them together. Where they met, instead of canceling each other out, they formed a swirling vortex of energy that hummed with power.

"Perfect balance," Jon explained. "Fire and ice, life and death, creation and destruction. That's what the First Men understood. That's what we need to rediscover."

Robb watched the display with wide eyes. "And this will help against the Others?"

"This is just the beginning." Jon extinguished the spheres and pulled out another notebook, this one filled with complex diagrams. "I've been studying the spells used to build the Wall. Brandon the Builder didn't just use ice magic – he used a combination of every magical tradition known to the First Men. That's why it's stood for thousands of years."

He spread out the diagrams, showing various magical formulas and runic sequences. "See these patterns? They're not just decorative. They're spell matrices, designed to channel and amplify magical energy. I think... I think with enough practice, we could recreate them. Maybe even improve them."

Standing up, Jon moved to the center of the room. "But first, I need to master fire in all its forms. Regular fire, magical fire, living fire, dead fire..." He raised his wand. "Ignis Vitae!"

Green flames erupted from the wand tip, forming into various animals – wolves, ravens, even a dragon – each moving with lifelike precision. "Fire that thinks. Fire that obeys. That's what we need against the dead."

For the next several hours, Jon experimented with different combinations of fire spells, documenting each result meticulously. He created flames that could freeze, flames that could heal, flames that could take solid form and serve as weapons or tools.

By the time they finished, both boys were exhausted, but Jon felt closer to his goal. "Tomorrow," he said as they cleaned up, "we start work on containing Fiendfyre. I think I've found a way to control it using runic circles and blood wards."

"Is it safe?" Robb asked, concern evident in his voice.

Jon thought of the Room of Requirement, consumed by uncontrollable cursed fire in another life. "No," he admitted. "But neither is what's coming for us. We need every weapon we can get."

As they climbed the stairs back to the main castle, Jon's mind was already racing with new ideas. He needed to find a way to combine Fiendfyre with the cold fire magic of the North. He needed to understand how dragons controlled their flames. He needed to decrypt the remaining fire magic texts he'd found in the crypts.

And somewhere beyond the Wall, the Night King was waiting.

"One more thing," Jon said as they reached the top of the stairs. He pulled out a small runestone he'd been working on. "Here. If you're ever in danger, break this. It'll create a ring of protection fire that only responds to Stark blood."

Robb took the stone, turning it over in his hands. "You really think we'll need all this?"

Jon thought of red weddings and ice spears and dragons falling from the sky. "I pray we won't," he said quietly. "But winter is coming, brother. And this time, we'll be ready."